


Linguistic Evolution

by TheScholarlyStrumpet (equipoise)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluffy tongue tied celestial idiots, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post tv show canon, They say so much without actually saying it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 08:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equipoise/pseuds/TheScholarlyStrumpet
Summary: Aziraphale tries learning some of the new vernacular and Crowley can’t bring himself to mind the result. (humor/fluff)





	Linguistic Evolution

“Well, we’re not going.”

“Hm?” Aziraphale looked up from the tome he’d been perusing, teacup halfway to his lips. 

Crowley nodded toward the overly-stickered invitation on the table. “That. You can throw that right out.” He hooked one thumb through his belt, hip tilting to the side. “We’re not going,” he repeated. 

Aziraphale’s mouth twisted, lower lip jutting slightly “Mmh. We did share an apocalypse with him- an almost apocalypse,” he amended thoughtfully. “It seems rude not to go to a birthday party.”

Crowley considered this for a moment. 

Adam Young was turning 12 years old. Which meant nearly a year had passed since the Apocolypse-That-Wasn’t. Since the world had been remade just slightly to the left of center (in some mostly acceptable ways). Since Aziraphale had begun splitting his time between his beloved bookshop and Crowley’s flat. 

In that miniscule flight of time, the flat ( **their** flat, really - not that either of them had ever said it aloud) had acquired a multitude of furniture, decor, and, of course, books. Crowley grumbled and growled about pack-rat Angels taking up valuable pacing room with trinkets but even he had to admit there was a certain charm to the new arrangement. Especially since it came along part and parcel (oh, so many parcels since Aziraphale had discovered how to use the computer to shop online) with the company of said Angel. 

But social gatherings? With the nearly teenage anti-christ and his chums? No thank you. Not that Crowley had anything in particular against pre-teens, agents of chaos that they often were. Especially those who had proven themselves quite admirable in celestial battle. He was actually far less keen on spending time in the company of the adults. Nothing more plodding and tedious than small town gossip over luke-warm punch. 

And, truth be told, he rather harbored a fear that Aziraphale might attempt to do magic again. 

“No.” Crowley shook his head emphatically. “I’m not going.”

***

Three days later, as they were in the car on the way to Adam’s birthday party, Crowley found himself desperately trying to explain just enough of the youthful vernacular to keep Aziraphale from coming across as hopelessly anachronistic. Although the suit the angel had chosen was already quite firmly making that point for them both. 

“No, Angel, I don’t think they do still mix thimbles and whatnot into the cake. I think it’s just cake.” Crowley shook his head. “Terrible idea that. Nearly choked on a tuppence once celebrating with Emilie Langtry.”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly at him. “What year was this? I almost never missed one of her soirees! She had the most delightful personal chef and such… panache.” He made a happy little noise, eyes glazing slightly in memory.

Crowley shrugged. “Can’t remember, really. It was a bit ago. Only went the once because I thought I could cause a stir with one of the royals. Got so pissed, I completely forgot why I was there and woke up wearing a bedsheet like a toga.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale shifted a little in his seat. “Oh my. I don’t think I attended that one.” 

They fell silent a moment and Crowley snuck a glance at his companion. 

That ridiculous suit with its silly bowtie. He’d insisted on wearing the corduroy jacket despite it being a quite warm day. At least there was no top hat this time. And Crowley had checked the sleeves twice for signs of hidden doves. Such a silly creature, his Angel. 

Picking up on the thread of their abandoned conversation, Aziraphale turned in his seat. “I forget, Crowley, does ‘bad’ mean good nowadays with the children? Or does it mean bad again? Or perhaps something else entirely?”

An indulgent smile tugged at Crowley’s lips. “I think perhaps you better just not talk.” 

***

The party itself was, at best, uneventful. For which Crowley was grateful. He’d had rather enough of Major Events in the town of Tadfield. It was a small but enthusiastic gathering featuring pizza (ordered in), cupcakes (handmade by Mrs. Young), and enough candy to give one a toothache on sight. 

Aziraphale insisted they accept Adam’s offer to give them a tour of the house, Aziraphale responding with unfeigned zeal to even the most banal fixture as Crowley slouched in nearby doorways. 

Later, as Crowley perched on a plastic chair, licking the cream cheese frosting off of a cupcake (not world class but not bad), he watched his Angel flit between conversations, talking animatedly and listening with great intent.

The Hellhound snuffled at Crowley’s feet and they eyed one another cautiously. 

“Not what you thought it would be up here, is it?” 

Dog tilted his head to one side, nostrils still twitching. He gave a little whuff, butting Crowley’s hand with his head. 

“Really?” he asked the Hellhound.

Dog responded by licking Crowley’s fingertips. 

“Oh alright,” he conceded, scratching the pup behind one ear.

Eating frosting at a child’s birthday and petting a hellhound. In Tadfield.

“Funny old world,” he mused aloud.

From a few feet away, he heard Aziraphale exclaiming to Mr. Young, “I see you also enjoy collecting material goods. Say, have you heard of Amazon dot com?” 

“Funny old world,” Crowely repeated, biting into his cupcake to stifle a laugh. 

***

On the drive home, Aziraphale was all atwitter with new information, especially the ways in which he had been able to apply his latest knowledge of the Internet (Crowley could tell just from the way he said it that he was capitalizing the “I” in his head) and something called a ‘meem’. 

“I said that I thought the cupcakes were ‘on fleek’ but I was told that is meant to apply mostly to eyebrows. Apparently eyebrows are very important to many young women these days. Although, Pepper says she thinks makeup is oppressive, unless you’re wearing it for yourself. I asked her who else she’d wear makeup for and she said ‘exactly.’ I’m not quite sure what she meant by that but I think I said the right thing because she started to tell me about something called a ‘blog’ that lives on the Internet. Apparently it’s a bit like a diary but it’s all on the computer. Can you imagine?”

“Must I?” 

Ignoring that, Aziraphale went on. “She said that I ought to start one for the bookstore but I told her I don’t think the store needs an online diary, though I appreciated the suggestion.” He sighed happily. “Such charming young people, don’t you think? I felt so very welcome there.” 

“You’re welcome everywhere.”

There was a pointed silence and Crowley looked over to find the smile on Aziraphale’s face had slid downward, his mood visibly dampening. 

“No, not everywhere. Not anymore.” 

Crowley swallowed hard. It didn’t come up often but every now and then, he’d look up to see this expression on his companion’s face. Loss. The kind of distance that can never be traversed again. It had been centuries since Crowley had felt it but he understood. 

More than possibly any other creature on Earth, he understood. 

In a soft voice, he reminded the angel, “You’re welcome anywhere you want to be.” Adding a touch of fierceness, he continued, “And anywhere _I_ might go… well, just let them try to keep you out.”

Aziraphale looked down at his lap, his expression brightening as his cheeks tinged pink. He laid a hand over Crowley’s left one, where it rested on the gear shift. 

Something in Crowley’s chest eased. “Now, you were saying? Something about eyebrows?” 

“Well, apparently when you want to agree with someone, you don’t say that you agree, you just say ‘mood’ and it means the same thing. If you agree enthusiastically, you say ‘big mood.’”

“Mhmm,” Crowley intoned. “Fascinating.” 

“And there are lots of words that seem nonsensical but they are actually acronyms for whole sentences.” His thumb stroked the side of Crowley’s hand almost absentmindedly and Crowley’s other hand gripped the wheel just a bit tighter than was necessary. 

“You don’t say.”

“Indeed. For example did you know that ‘bae’ is not a misspelling or contraction of the endearment babe or baby. It’s actually an acronym that means ‘before anyone else.’ Isn’t that a lovely sentiment?” Aziraphale jiggled his head a little, peacock proud at this linguistic discovery. A pause and then he added, “So, I suppose that means that _you_ would be my ‘bae.’” 

Crowley cleared his throat, heat rising in his face. “Well. Yes. Well.” He turned his hand upward under Aziraphale’s to interlace their fingers. “You know if I go a bit faster, we can still make it to that bakery you like. Perhaps get some croissants for tomorrow’s breakfast.”

“I’d like that very much!” As Crowley accelerated, Aziraphale hummed a warning, “oh but please do mind the speed limit, Crowley dear.” 

Crowley bit back a grin. “Shan’t.” 

Aziraphale shook his head (still smiling) but said nothing else, just held onto Crowley’s hand a little tighter as they sped through the darkening streets. 


End file.
